


It's Gonna be Okay

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Edo!BixFreed [4]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Promises, Rescue, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: Freed had always known that it was only a matter of time before he was caught, but not like this, not so close to the one place and the one person he wanted to protect. He'd been taught to survive at any cost, but Bickslow wasn't a price he was willing to pay.
Relationships: Bickslow/Freed Justine
Series: Edo!BixFreed [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733119
Kudos: 8
Collections: I Take Pride in What I Am 2020





	It's Gonna be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that if you want to talk to me about my fics and writing, or anime/shows/games in general then you can now find me on discord [The Unholy Trinity](https://discord.gg/6sSddAWa5c).

Freed grunted as his arm was twisted even further behind his back, wondering how much more of this abuse his shoulder could take. Not much, he thought, feeling something grating in the joint, just as a kick to the stomach had him jack-knifing, trying to double over, a strangle noise bubbling up as the air was driven out of him. There was nowhere for him to go, and the hands holding him in place tightened. Bruises added on top of bruises. The guards weren’t taking any chances, they knew him too well.

And not at all.

He had already located their weapons, his mind racing with different escape routes. None of them was guaranteed, and none of them would be easy. Usually, that wouldn’t have slowed him let alone stopped him. He had made a livelihood out of doing the impossible after all, but today, even as he sagged, flailing hand brushing against the concealed knife of one of his captors he made no effort to lunge for it. Not because of the pain, the blurring of his vision on the right side from where they had first taken him down, his head still ringing from the impact, but because they were too close…to close to him. If he lifted his head, something he wasn’t sure he could manage at the moment, he would be able to see the top of Bickslow’s house, the slightly stopped chimney, the highest windows that he had slipped through countless times.

If he escaped here, their eyes would be all over this place, and he’d already drawn too much attention to the Carpenter in the past. He couldn’t risk it. He had to let them take him and hope and pray that he found a place to escape somewhere en route. _Survive at any cost,_ that was what he had been taught from the moment he had started to steal, and until today he had adhered to that one rule. He tried not to involve people, but if it became a choice between his life and freedom, he would risk it, but not here and not now.

_Bickslow…_

It had been dangerous to trust the other man, foolish to keep coming back again and again until that house and workshop had become his sanctuary. His home. It had been inevitable, that he had fallen in love with Bickslow, with the one person in this city, this country that saw him for what he really was and didn’t judge him for it. His greatest strength and weakness wrapped up in the heart that had been stolen by the other man, and the one that he now carried in exchange.

A mistake that he could never regret, even if it meant letting them march him into the prison.

Even if it meant not surviving this time.

He lifted his head, hating how much effort it took just to do that much, the world swimming in and out of focus for a moment. A crowd had gathered, all eyes locked on him, recognising him from the posters no doubt. He saw their curiosity, their pity as he was cuffed across the face eliciting another grunt that he couldn’t hold back, their anger at this thief in their midst, and other darker emotions he didn’t care to address. He let that wash over him, just as he had been taught by a lifetime alone on the wrong side of the law. Instead, he focused on the fear that bubbled up underneath. If Bickslow was out and about, or even if he was at home and not consumed by his work, there was no way he would miss this activity, and the thought of his partner seeing him like this, hardened that bubble into a kernel that sat heavy, and leaden in the pit of his stomach.

“Can we get this over with?” He forced out, wincing as he spoke. They must have split his lip at some point, each word tugging on it, and leaving him with the taste of blood in his mouth. He worked his mouth, wincing and then spat the mouthful on the ground, before meeting their eyes. “Some of us have better places to be.” _Anywhere but here,_ he thought, eyes flicking towards the crowd again. His distraction cost him, missing the ripple of movement that greeted his words, another armoured boot lashing out towards him.

This one caught him in the chest, stealing his breath, and sending him toppling backwards with a sharp cry of pain that he couldn’t hold back. It felt like everything was on fire, a blaze that rippled out from the point of his impact and engulfed his entire torso, and he thought that he might have felt bone crack beneath the impact. The world had gone dark, and then it went white, as a different, sharper agony made itself known. His stomach rolled and twisted, hot then cold, as his shoulder and neck blazed white, and belatedly he realised they hadn’t let go, and the force of his weight coming to bear on that already weakening joint had torn it out of place. Someone was screaming now, and he knew that it must be him, but he couldn’t stop.

Couldn’t focus beyond the pain.

Pain that rippled and flared, new sources making itself known and as he curled in on himself, feeling the press of a foot on the small of his back he wondered if this was going to be it. Was he going to die here? So close to home? To Bickslow?

_Not here._

Not here, rather than _not now,_ he almost wanted to laugh at his own thoughts. At how much he had changed for this one person. Instead, he fixed an image of Bickslow in his mind – his partner at work in his workshop, focused, tongue peeking out at the corner – and moved, rolling out of the path of the kicks. He could barely see. The movement, reigniting everyone of his injuries anew and when he made it to hands and knees, he was breathing heavily, spitting out blood and bile, everything moving around him in a dizzying twist. _Get up! Move! Run!_ He wouldn’t be able to escape, not like this, but if he could just lead them away from Bickslow.

_Bickslow, you have to protect Bickslow…_

Hands were reaching for him, a blow catching his shoulder, and he keened at the pain. _Bickslow! Bickslow!_ He couldn’t afford to think about anything else. He couldn’t stop here. _Survive at any cost…for him, to keep him safe,_ he thought, biting his lip to force back the sound as pushed himself up onto one knee and nearly fell again. _Bickslow…_ He bit down harder, feeling blood welling, trying to get his feet beneath him. He didn’t need to get far, he didn’t need to fight, he just had to get away from here. Away from Bickslow. Away… his body couldn’t match his will, and he was falling, collapsing onto his front before he even realised that. Unable to prevent the impact with the ground or stop himself from crying out again.

_Bickslow…it hurts…_

His mind was failing him now. Pain overtaking him, bleeding into the image of Bickslow. Until all, he could see was the other man leaning over him, worried and afraid, just as he always was whenever Freed staggered home injured. _I wish I could have said goodbye,_ he thought, eyes closing just as there was a commotion somewhere behind him. More guards, he guessed, hovering just this side of consciousness. Almost amused by how dangerous they must think he was, wondering how much he was disappointing their expectations right now.

_You’re a little too late…_

He was slipping now, drifting away, the pain beginning to dim. He knew that was a bad sign, knew that he should do something. Could almost hear Bickslow urging him to get to his feet, to hold on, to keep fighting. _I’m sorry…_

The commotion was swelling now, surging around him in waves. What was happening? There were movement and voices, and he got the impression of people moving around him, away from him. He tried to look, some distant, faded spark of defiance coming to life, but his eyes refused to heed his coaxing to open again. The sound of everything muffled by the white noise pressing in on him again. Was it going to end here? With him on the ground, and with no one at his side? No one that he wanted at least, and the only person he wanted – the one man he wished he could say farewell too, was also the last one he wanted anywhere near here. At least if this ended, if he died here, then Bickslow would be safe. After all, they would have no reason to hunt down his partner once he was gone, so why wasn’t he relieved? Why were his eyes burning, tears threatening to fall? Why did it hurt, a thousand times worse than the injuries that had been inflicted?

_Bickslow…_

“…eed! FREED!”

As though summoned by his thoughts, a voice rose, cutting above the commotion and through the white noise flooding his ears. The one voice he would have given anything to hear one last time and the same voice that he never wanted to hear at this moment. _Bickslow…_ Frantic, fear pulsing, Freed tried to stir, to open his eyes and see what was happening. To see him one last time, to tell him to run as far and as fast as he could. To survive at any cost. His will was there, heart hammering in his chest, breath catching in terror, but his body couldn’t match it. He managed to open his eyes to mere slits, enough to grant him a narrow, blurred view of the world around him. It made no sense. There was movement, colours and shapes flowing in and out of view, too quick for him to make sense of, and if Bickslow was there – if it wasn’t a figment of his imagination – then Freed couldn’t see him, and the tears fell then, hot and heavy, against chilled skin.

_Bickslow, run away…_

Someone stumbled over him, cursing, the voice too loud and too close, the contact making him cry out in pain, or at least he thought he had. The sound lost against the roaring in his ears, every inch of his body, crying out in protest again as he rolled with the impact, jerking to a halt as his body collided with something solid. His vision darkened, the colours disappearing, until everything was in shades of grey and black, formless shapes moving against shadows, confusing him.

“Freed!” Bickslow’s voice was closer now, a pinpoint of clarity in the swirling darkness and far too close, as though mocking his silent, wordless pleas for him to stay away.

Then there were hands on him. Gentle hands, so far from those that had held him down before, that had torn and twisted and left him like this, that more tears rolled down his cheeks. Freed hated it, it was a cruel mercy in the middle of everything else, as fingers ghosted over bruises and worse, lingering longest over his chest and shoulder, and he felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath. Distantly he wondered what he must look like at the moment, certainly a far cry from the thief who had first been forced to his knees what felt like a lifetime ago but could probably be measured in minutes. Then there were fingers against his cheek, curled and gentle, and his heart leapt and twisted because he knew that touch, could feel the callouses from a lifetime of working with wood, and his lips moved silently for a moment. _Bickslow…_

“…g…” He managed to force out through bloodied lips, unable to say anything more. _Go. Please, go…_ He didn’t know how Bickslow was there, and why no one was pulling him away, the commotion continuing to rage around them enough to tell him they weren’t alone. The touch didn’t disappear. Instead, the dark blur that he knew must be Bickslow leant closer, and Freed blinked, trying to clear his vision. He managed to bring his partner’s face into focus, still blurry, still more grey than anything, but recognisable, although Freed was sure that he would always be able to recognise this man. Although, he didn’t recognise the expression, having never seen Bickslow look so frightened, so…broken, as though he was as shattered as Freed at this moment, and his fingers twitched, itching to reach out and offer comfort, his body refusing. “Bi…r…” The words wouldn’t come, breath catching as he tasted blood again.

“Don’t talk,” Bickslow ordered, fingers moving to wipe away the blood that had trickled down Freed’s chin with his efforts to speak. “And don’t move,” he added, catching sight of the twitching fingers. Freed blinked up at him, not understanding what was happening, terrified to see him there. Defying Bickslow, he shook his head, barely enough to even be called that, but enough, because Bickslow’s expression darkened. “You’re safe now.” Freed wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn’t care about that. That he had accepted his fate. That it was all for nothing if they got their hands on Bickslow now. The words refused to come, but he grunted, an awful broken sound that hurt on its way out, and Bickslow cursed – something Freed had never heard from him before – before leaning in close so that even with his eyesight failing him, Freed could see him. “We’re both safe. I’m safe.”

There was an odd note to his voice that Freed couldn’t make sense off… there was desperation, echoing Freed’s own continuing, desperate pleas for Bickslow to escape. Regret? Perhaps, certainly a note of it, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. Anger? Yes, there was anger. It was there as Bickslow’s eyes swept over his body again, lingering on his injuries, the ones that burned fiercely even beneath the numbness that was settling over him once more, before rising to meet his gaze once more. But it was more than that, and some of it was aimed at Freed himself, he realised belatedly. Not that he had been caught, or that this had happened – although he should have been furious at Freed for bringing this trouble down on them, and so close to his – their – home. But, because even now Freed had been worried for him, that he had forced Bickslow to reassure him that he was safe when his partner was only concerned about him. It was a strange realisation, one that sat oddly in his chest. A weight. A warmth. A realisation.

He had almost given up.

He had almost broken the promise, given with the painstakingly carved wooden heart, that he would always come back.

_I’m sorry,_ he thought, the words sitting heavy with the realisation. Yet, for all that, he didn’t want Bickslow here, didn’t want him in danger because of him. _We’re safe. I’m safe,_ Bickslow had told him, and yet how could that be so? Freed could still hear the people around them, the sounds muffled and confused, unable to focus enough to understand what was happening, and why no one was reaching for Bickslow, and ignoring the protest from his partner, he let his head loll to the side. Lacking the strength to even try and lift his head, and he blinked as above the blurry chaos that his eyes couldn’t make sense of, a flag fluttered, a bright beacon amongst the encroaching darkness and his eyes widened.

He knew that symbol.

Fairy Tail.

Fairy Tail had come for him? Why? He had worked with them before, sometimes even going out of his way to target items that would interest or help them, not because they paid well, but because they like him lived on this strange, nebulous side of the law. He had fought with them. Drunk with them. But he wasn’t one of them, had refused all offers to join them in fact. So, why were they here? His gaze tracked back to Bickslow, seeing the lack of the surprise, the fact that his partner was looking to them, trusting them, and Bickslow met his gaze. Unflinching, unrepentant, even after Freed’s constant attempts to keep him out of all of this, and it was too much.

Bickslow was here when he wasn’t supposed to be.

Bickslow was worrying about him when Freed was supposed to protect him.

Now, Bickslow had chosen a side. Publicly declaring his connection with Freed, with Fairy Tail, eradicating any chance of his partner going back to his old life. The house that had been Freed’s first home in years, and the only home Bickslow had ever known, the workshop where Bickslow honed his craft and hid Freed’s secrets from the world, none of it was safe anymore. Freed squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the guilt, the tears, the wish that he hadn’t held on so long, even as in the back of his mind he realised that Bickslow must have known, that he must’ve seen what was happening at the start and gone for help.

That he couldn’t have stopped this.

Bickslow’s fingers were on his cheeks again, gently wiping away the tears, and then warm lips were pressed to his forehead. As tender and calm as though they were safely in their own bed, and Freed had roused him with a nightmare, rather than dragging him into this waking one. “It’s going to be okay.” There was no anger now, no regret, and despite himself, Freed opened his eyes again and looked into his partner’s face. There was a promise in those words, in the gaze that met his own, in the fingers that again wiped tears from his cheek. Bickslow meant what he was saying, believed it wholeheartedly, and was giving that certainty to Freed as easily and freely as he had given his heart. As though there weren’t Fairy Tail members keeping the guards and people away from them, as though Freed wasn’t lying in his own blood, his body in tatters just as their life…as Bickslow’s life was, and Freed almost wanted to hate him for it, but couldn’t, his heart too full as he looked up at this man who had given him everything and wanted nothing in return, beyond what Freed was willing to give him.

“B-Bi…l…” He managed to whisper. It wasn’t enough, broken and bloody, and he could feel himself beginning to slip, as he let himself start to believe those words. That promise. Bickslow must’ve realised too, turning to shout something over his shoulders, and Freed couldn’t make sense of the words now, everything beginning to fade. Then Bickslow was focused on him again, leaning closer, cupping his cheeks.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated, soft and firm. Even more of a promise this time, especially as he added. “I’m going to protect you this time.” Freed wanted to protest, but he was fading, slipping under. And he wanted to believe, to accept the promise, the love, in those words, and so he let go, trusting Bickslow to do what he hadn’t been able to do.


End file.
